


all the ways you make my stomach turn

by orphan_account



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blake is just a little too in the closet, Cheating, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Unrequited Love, this is mostly porn i can't really lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 17:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: so, yes, blake langermann technicallydoescheat on his wife with his best friend. it doesn't actuallymeananything.





	all the ways you make my stomach turn

**Author's Note:**

> written in an hour in a caffeine/exhaustion haze because i couldn't stop thinking about it.  
> unbeta'd, every mistake is my own! let me know if there's any glaring errors. i know it's a bit all over the place.  
> title from 'it's not a side effect of the cocaine, i am thinking it must be love' by fall out boy.

i) 

the difference between miles & lynn is that miles fucks.

he doesn’t waste time asking questions or pretending to be romantic – just shoves blake onto the bed (or desk, or against the wall – it hardly matters to him) and wraps a hand around his throat and takes whatever he wants.

blake goes home after. leaves miles propped up in bed, smoking – sometimes a cigarette, sometimes a joint – god, how fucking cliché can you get, blake once said, a roll of his eyes accompanying it.

miles had laughed at that, and it had twisted blake’s stomach. miles has a way of doing that to him.

he goes home, and he kisses lynn, and everything is fine.

ii) 

blake is straight. he can’t ever be anything else, and that’s all there is to it.

sometimes, when he drops to his knees in front of miles, he still hears father loutermilch’s words ringing in his ears.

“you’re confused, blake.”

iii) 

lynn asks where he’s been after he comes home at 3 am. he knows she knows the answer. lynn langermann is anything but stupid.

still, he doesn’t lie to her. not exactly, anyway. as far as she’s concerned, blake went to see miles, drink a little, watch some shitty film out of miles’ netflix queue.

it’s technically true. he did go over to see miles (and pushed him against his front door the second the latch was locked), and they did drink (blake downs three shots of whiskey, smells the vodka miles had been downing straight from the bottle on his breath, pretends it’s the alcohol that makes him pin miles’ hands above his head and shove a knee in between his thighs), and they did watch some shitty film miles had picked out (blake bent miles over the arm of his couch, fucked him hard and fast, drank up the sweet sound of miles begging him to come on his face, inside him, in his mouth).

iv) 

he doesn’t kiss miles. not ever. that’s a rule they (blake) have established (for miles.)

it works fine, works for months until they’re both stoned and a little drunk and blake is riding miles like his life depends on it, cursing under his breath and basking just a little in the way miles gasps under him.

blake sinks his teeth hard into miles’ collarbone, sucks a bruise into the tan skin there, and miles curses and comes inside of blake. he gets a hand around blake’s dick and jerks him off, slow and steady, the way he knows blake likes, he’s somehow always known. blake gasps and then he’s coming and miles is right fucking there and so pretty sometimes and –

and he kisses miles. _fuck._

miles takes it as a sudden greenlight for kissing, pulls blake in and kisses him like he’s starving. blake melts into it for just a second, refuses to be gentle. never with miles. he shoves his tongue down miles’ throat and miles moans and fuck. blake savors it. he knows they won’t ever do it again.

he pushes off of miles and immediately runs to the bathroom, throws up every drop of alcohol he’d consumed and then a decent amount of stomach acid for good measure. miles watches bemusedly from the bathroom door.

“jesus, blake, i wasn’t _that_ bad, was i?”  
“ _fuck_ you, miles.”  
“you got my number on speed dial, babe.”

v) 

he hasn’t had sex with lynn in what he's pretty sure is at least 10 months now.

he tells himself it has more to do with their relationship and their jobs, the way they get stressed and snap at each other and it's just wearing on them, is all, and less to do with the fact he’s fucking their college best friend.

he's never been a good liar.

vi) 

his name is waylon park.

miles has mentioned other men he’s seen here and there to him before – never while they were in the middle of sex, _christ,_ miles has _some_ manners. but blake comes over in the middle of the night and miles just seems so distracted, isn’t even as loud as he usually is when they fuck and lo and behold: afterwards, he can’t shut up about waylon fucking park.

“met him in a coffee shop, y'know, few streets down? got the wrong order, switched with him, wanted to fuck him senseless immediately. wine and dine him first, though, _that_ kinda dude, blake, seriously. he’s a programmer, like for some bougie company i already forgot the name of – fucking who cares, he’s hot, doesn’t matter – anyways, he’s so fucking smart, blake, it’s insane. and he’s pretty cute too, not _just_ hot as fuck, but he dresses like a fuckin’ nerd, i swear, but that’s kinda cool ‘cause –”

blake knows where he’s going with this. he’s telling him it’s over. they can’t fuck anymore, miles can no longer be the solution for blake’s sexual frustration; blake can’t come fuck his anger issues and insecurity and religious guilt and fuck knows what else into miles anymore. he’s found himself a boyfriend -- a new fuckbuddy, at least.

he plays it cool, as he so often tries to do with miles upshur, patron saint of not giving a fuck.

“you kickin’ me out, then, upshur?”  
“i bring him over to fuck, you’re always welcome to watch, langermann.”  
“pass, dude. not interested if my dick isn’t involved.”  
“you askin’ me for a threesome? fuck _yes._ ”  
“goodnight, miles. keep your dick in your pants for once, would ya? not like that’s possible.”

as he leaves, blake can hear miles cackling behind him. miles calls after him, “that’s why you love me, man!”

blake’s stomach twists. he drives to a park, sits there for an hour, trying to stop shaking before he goes home.

he kisses lynn and tells her how much he loves her. stares at the tiny silver cross they have hanging in their doorway maybe a bit harder than necessary.

vii) 

he doesn’t love miles upshur, is the thing. 

miles upshur is his best friend, sure. knows him better than anyone else, would (and miles has) get into a knife fight in his honor, whole fucking bit. and so fucking what, so _what_ if they fuck sometimes? miles is a physical outlet. that’s all.

no _fucking_ strings _fucking_ attached.

he loves lynn, and he’s straight anyways, so who fucking cares?

viii) 

despite the clenched, sick feeling he gets in his stomach when he thinks about him, blake decides whoever waylon park is, he approves of him. despite his best interests, admittedly.

miles needs an actual boyfriend in his life. a good man to keep him in line – assuming _that_ one is even possible. he deserves better than his straight, married best friend calling him at 4 am when his wife is asleep and all he can think about is the way miles sucks cock like a fucking champ.

blake wouldn’t be a good boyfriend. not for miles or anyone else. he isn’t even a good husband. or a good person. he likes to think he was a good husband, maybe even stretching that credential into being a good person too before he started sleeping with miles. he can’t remember nowadays.

he’s just… confused, is all.

ix) 

they meet waylon park, eventually.

it’s serious, blake knows that much. miles comes over all the fucking time for dinner -- he can't cook for shit and blake is magic with a pasta maker and a couple hours to figure out what to do with it -- and he and lynn sit for hours and just fucking fawn over waylon fucking park.

miles doesn’t date. it isn’t his thing. but blake swears, his eyes honest to god _sparkle_ when telling lynn about this new sushi place he and waylon went to – _and since when,_ blake thinks a little bitterly, _does miles upshur take people on fucking dates?_ – and how they all need to go together next time waylon is around.

he can't say no, so they do. blake takes lynn and miles takes waylon and – blake really, _really_ doesn’t hate waylon.

he can’t. it’s not possible, blake is pretty sure. he’s blond and bubbly in personality and incredibly intelligent – a cum laude graduate from berkeley, miles gushes. miles was right, he dresses like a fucking nerd, in a cardigan and black converse, but it suits him. he’s incredibly nice if a little shy – the exact opposite of miles’ type, but lately blake isn’t sure how much he truly knows about miles. turns out fucking someone doesn’t make you an expert on them.

blake has never in his life seen miles look so happy. he looks at waylon like he holds the fucking world on his goddamn shoulders and waylon looks at him just the same. blake can’t get the sick feeling out of his gut, the lump in his throat that never leaves. like there's something horrifically wrong with the world and he can't figure out what.

blake knows he’s the one who put his and miles’ ‘no kissing’ rule in place. he did it for his marriage more than anything – lynn is his wife, miles is his friend, yes, but moreso an object of lust nowadays. friends with benefits, not feelings. you only kiss people you love, is what he was taught.

but when miles leans over to waylon’s side of the booth they share, much more shy than blake has ever seen him, and presses his lips ever so _fucking_ gently to waylon’s.

well.

in another life, it should have been him. that’s all he’s saying.

x) 

blake fucks lynn for the first time in a year. it’s good. it’s fine, really. lynn’s gorgeous and he loves her and their sex is fine.

still, the differences can’t be ignored. lynn is soft where miles is more solid, firm muscle under tan skin. lynn is smooth skin and the taste of coffee and lip balm and miles is all lanky fingers -- the eight he still has, anyway-- and the taste of cigarettes and cinnamon gum, blue eyes and dark hair and -- he's not lynn, is the point. and while lynn is hardly afraid to vocalize what she wants out of her husband, she’s not the way miles will casually get on his knees apropos to nothing and suck blake’s cock until he comes all over his face. she isn’t the way miles will moan and lick blake off of his lips, still at his feet like he’s worshipping him.

they aren't each other, is what his mind is trying to get at. you're with one right now, not the other. _focus._

blake tries to stay in the moment but instead he imagines miles underneath him, moaning and writhing while blake slowly pushes his cock inside him, teasing him, miles begging him to fuck him harder, faster. pictures the time he fucked miles so hard his eyes were rolled back in his head, the way his legs shook, the way he could barely speak coherently when he was close. _‘god blake oh fuck, harder, harder, use me, yes, yes, i’m yours, no one else could ever fuck me like this, fuck, i’m yours, blake, blake, i think i love you, fuck, i love you.'_

(if his own mind and wishful thinking supplied some of the dialogue, well. no one will ever know, anyway.)

he bites his lip so hard his teeth almost cut through just to stop himself from saying miles’ name when he comes.

he holds lynn after, tells her he loves her. which he does. 

he owes her that much, at least.

xi) 

sometimes, blake wonders what jessica would have thought of him now, had she been alive to see this mess.

he’s glad she isn’t, if he’s honest with himself.

_(when is he ever?)_

'you’re just confused.’

_(is he?)_

xii) 

miles and waylon get fucking engaged.

xiii) 

it’s not fair.

it isn’t.

blake knows everything about miles: his stupid love of cats, how he lost two of his fingers, how his lips are more chapped than soft but they feel nice anyway. blake knows how he’s a fucking fantastic writer, born to be a journalist, a godsend to the literary community. he knows in college miles fucked 4 guys at once and skipped class because he couldn't walk for a day after. how he likes when his reporting jobs end in broken teeth and shattered glass and blood gushing from his nose.

how he takes his coffee with way too much fucking sugar, how he cries watching titanic and he’ll take in any stray animal he sees. how he’s not really an abrasive asshole, the way you might think upon first meeting him. how he has a kickass sense of justice and a heart of solid gold.

how blake _loved him first_ , goddammit.

he loved him first, and yeah, blake doesn’t get to stake a claim in miles’ heart or bed or anywhere. he has a wife he pretends he’s so dedicated to. he doesn’t _get_ miles. he could have, but he didn’t and now waylon park is permanently residing in miles upshur's bed and heart.

so now, _he_ gets to learn all these tiny little things that make up miles upshur, in ways blake won’t ever get to see, because blake langermann is a damned fucking coward who was too scared to give miles upshur the fucking time of day. he doesn’t even really know if he truly would have wanted to, is the worst of it. he doesn't know how he feels about miles. he doesn't know much of anything.

he doesn’t know.

he’s confused. he’s so, so confused.

xiv) a lot of things change in blake langermann’s life in the span of a year.

his marriage suffers just a little, here and there, strains with work and stress and fighting and in retaliation he fucks – he won’t say falls in love with – his best friend. can only come if his best friend is fucking him into his worn-out mattress in his shithole apartment, a hand pressing hard on his throat. goes between not being able to bring himself to be guilty about it and throwing up in said best friend's bathroom for an hour after because his body can't handle how horrible he feels about it.

and then best friend finds a boyfriend, a fiancé, a soon-to-be husband.

he’s confused.

he takes up drinking.

he hires a prostitute, just once, with a sharp jaw and dark hair and blue eyes. male or female, he can’t remember which. he called them miles anyway, fucked them as hard as he knows miles likes being fucked. wonders idly if waylon fucks him that hard. wonders if miles ever misses him.

he supposes sex is maybe a little different when you’re in love. he doesn’t remember when he stopped feeling that with lynn, doesn’t remember when he started feeling it with miles. doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop, though he’s off upshur cold fucking turkey.

he’s not confused, he thinks. he knows himself. he would have liked to kiss miles more, maybe. he would have liked to been better to lynn.

he’s in love with his wife, he’s in love with his best friend, he's not in love with anyone at fucking all.

xv) he’s not confused.

xvi) he’s confused.

xvii) maybe he’ll learn to live with it.

xviii) (he doesn’t.)

**Author's Note:**

> "don't be that note i can't hold.  
> don't be that joke that i told and told until it got old.  
> don't be that hand around my throat so i can't breathe.  
> you say you're my friend. why won't you be my family?"
> 
> (not the sun // brand new)


End file.
